


Meeting Mummy

by downdeepinside



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Family, Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, prompted, thank you, this was fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:29:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downdeepinside/pseuds/downdeepinside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for an anonymous prompt on tumblr; 'what about a heavily pregnant John meeting Sherlock's mother for the first time?'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meeting Mummy

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sherlock (sadly).
> 
> This has mpreg in it so if you don't like that you probably don't want to read it.
> 
> And, er, this was for an anon on tumblr. I hope you like it :-')

“John! Hurry up, we’re going to be late!”

John mumbled a grouchy ‘coming, dearest’ under his breath as he made his way down the stairs, which was unbelievably hard with two seven-month foetus’ attached to his front. Sherlock was bouncing with the air of an over-excited five year old out on Baker Street and a bemused cab driver watched as John made it out of the building and pushed the door shut with a huff. Two sets of bags were already secured safely in the boot of the London taxi-cab and the door was held open by the consulting detective, whose enthusiastic gaze flickered from John, to his rather enormous middle, to the seat of the cab as if frightened all three might not fit in. John tried his best not to snap at the man: He’d been this way since ‘Mummy’ had arrived back in England after a summer in the north of France.

That’s right, a summer. Six months. Meaning the poor dear hadn’t a clue about John’s condition.

***

The cab ride was a long and uncomfortable one; the twins were pressing down on John’s bladder and making him increasingly irritable while Sherlock was insistently crushing John’s hand and babbling about absolutely nothing. If John hadn’t been boiling hot, pregnant with twins, and bored stiff after being stuck in London traffic for almost two hours he might have found it endearing.

“I’ve told you what you’re to call her, haven’t I?”

John was taken by surprise at the break in Sherlock’s monologue and looked up, shaking his head of the thoughts of sleep that were slowly making their home there. “Sorry?”

“My mother, John!” Sherlock  batted him on the shoulder and instantly looked regretful of it – ever since he’d found out about John’s pregnancy he’d been acting as if the man might break, “What are you meant to call my mother?”

John sighed and closed his eyes, sinking back further into the seat. “Miss Sherrinford, at first: After that she’ll insist I call her Violet.”

Sherlock grinned and (as if it were possible) tightened his grip on John’s hand. “Excellent, excellent. And remember; you mustn’t mention Father.”

Ah, the ominous Mr Siger Holmes. According to Sherlock’s (rather brief) tail Violet and Siger had never married, despite having two children together. Violet had frequently attempted to win Mr Holmes senior’s heart and he had simply rejected her repeatedly, choosing instead a life of countless sexual encounters abroad. Once Sherlock was born he had decided the woman was too much of a risk to his business and had her disposed of while he raised his two sons in an effort to ensure they would become acceptable young gentleman. While Siger was a cold, heartless man, Violet was something of an eccentric – often living in her own head and preferring the company of bees and butterflies to any human being.

Sherlock’s parentage certainly explained about the man he turned out to be.

John hummed, “Of course. Don’t mention Father and don’t mention Mycroft unless asked. Don’t add any sugar to tea, milk to coffee, and if offered a scone put the cream on before the jam. Anything I’m missing?”

Sherlock twisted in his seat before glancing out of the window, “She really is a wonderful woman, John. You don’t need to be so… negative.”

John sighed, “I’m just hesitant, Sherlock. There must be a reason I haven’t met her before.”

Sherlock pulled his gaze away from the window and rested his eyes on John’s belly, “I’ve never had so much to be proud of before.”

***

After three hours the cab pulled up outside a reasonably large house, just on the outskirts of Reading. Violet, while apparently wealthy, clearly had no desire to show it. While the driver pulled the bags (far too many bags for the two day trip planned) out of the boot Sherlock hopped out of the car and ran around to John’s side, opening the door as if John couldn’t do so himself. Once again John had to bite his tongue and simply smile, resting a hand on his stomach as he swung his legs out of the car and forced himself into an awkward standing position, wavering a little on his feet.

Sherlock heaved the two bags easily onto one shoulder and reached out for John’s hand again, his eager grin from earlier wavering a little and anxiety creeping through the faux-happy mask. John took his hand and their fingers interlaced, Sherlock’s finger tips gently massaging John’s palm. The cab driver nodded before hopping into the driver’s seat and racing off into the distance. John took the brief moment of peace with his partner as a blessing.

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?” The detective was staring up at the house in front of him and swinging back and forth on the balls of his feet.

John reached up a hand to stroke his cheek gently and Sherlock glanced down, his forehead creasing. “What?”

“It’s going to be fine, love,” John smiled and tugged down on Sherlock’s ear until the man bent low enough for a chaste kiss to be pressed to his lips, “If you’re mother is anything like you said she is I’m sure she’ll be del-”

“Sherlock!”

The man in question whipped away from John so fast the doctor thought he might have whiplash. A small old lady was standing just on the pavement outside Violet’s house, long curly hair hanging down by her shoulders – now mostly grey, but with a hint of auburn – and a loose fitting black sundress hanging off her petite form. Her eyes locked with Sherlock’s and her mouth formed a perfect ‘oh’ before she was throwing herself at the man and hugging him tightly.

After a pause, Sherlock reciprocated the hug and smiled, “Mummy.”

***

The two pulled away from each other and Violet looked her youngest son up and down – still smiling – before nodding to herself as if his appearance was acceptable and turning to John. Her smile, if possible, got even wider, until her eyes landed on John’s protruding abdomen and it wavered.

“Sherlock?”

Her voice was quiet now, a little wobbly. Sherlock seemed to go offline for a moment before shaking himself back down to earth and stepping towards John, entwining their hands once again. “Mummy,” he glanced at John and gave (a valiant effort at) a reassuring smile, “This is John Watson.”

When it became clear ‘Mummy’ was not about to make a move, John extended a hand, “Miss Sherrinford?” she nodded slowly, reaching forward and taking his hand in a very dainty hold, “I’ve heard a lot about you, Sherlock’s been incredibly excited about coming-”

“Twins?”

John’s hand was suddenly dropped and he tried to carry on as if it was nothing, instead resting his hand on top of his stomach again and forcing a smile at the woman, who appeared to have quite the knack at interrupting him. “Ah, yes; twins.”

She hummed, looking a little wistful, “Hmm, I thought Mycroft was going to be twins – in the early days. Technology wasn’t quite what it is today and the morning sickness was simply dre- are those bags?” she looked back to Sherlock and frowned, “Why do you have bags?”

John sent Sherlock a look, eyebrows raised and mouth twisted in a firm line. He’d been under the impression Violet was aware they’d be staying for the next few days.

Just as Sherlock went to open his mouth she gasped again and grinned, “Oh! Visitors! You were coming to stay: Wonderful. How- I’ll have Mrs Bates set up the spare room. You just sort out John, dear.”

She held up a hand absently and span around before walking back to the house, leaving John blinking at where she once stood. Sherlock shuffled on his spot and John snorted,

“So; that’s your mother, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading - kudos and comments are always very much appreciated :-)


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